


The Right Choice

by simoneallen



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:54:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simoneallen/pseuds/simoneallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on the Season 5 episode, Birthmarks. It's not highly original and a lot of the dialogue is taken directly from the episode, but I love it so and wanted to write around it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Choice

Title: The Right Choice  
Author: Simone Allen  
Beta: [dogpoet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpoet)  


Wilson resisted the urge to pull at his collar, the familiar tug of the tie around his neck suddenly feeling like a noose rather than the comfort it usually was.

That thought in itself might almost have made him laugh, in another place and at another time. Finally, he understood what House meant about being so buttoned up he could barely breathe - and it was too late.

Amber was gone, beyond anything he could do for her, anything he could be with her. She wasn’t the only woman he’d ever loved, not by a long shot, but she was the only one who’d ever made him feel that he’d finally made a good choice. She was the only one House had thought was possibly not a bad choice, but it was House’s fault she’d died. House’s fault/his fault.

Why was he in this place, with these people? What the hell was he doing here, of all places? With him? His family. Why, after everything, was this still up to him?

He shifted his feet. It was so hot and stuffy. Everywhere he looked there were people in uniform, no one anything less than a general. If you could judge these people by their bearing and the number of medals on their chests, which likely you could, then he was way out of his league.

“Greg,” said House’s mother as she met them in the lobby, and there was so much in just that name. Her look was determined as she told him what she wanted him to do.

It was ridiculous to even try, but then she turned to Wilson. “I know he’ll make me proud,” she said. And even House’s mother was looking to him? Was it not enough that he’d brought him here? Swallowed how he felt, yet again? Drugged him. Kidnapped him. For what? The abuse? The mocking?

_“My ringtone for you is Dancing Queen. By ABBA.”_

_“Wilson’s getting arrested. I don’t want to miss the anal cavity search.”_

_“That’s how we met. I was in prison.”_

All so House could say goodbye to a man he hated. So he wouldn’t miss his father’s funeral.

House looked away from him as they moved towards their seats at the front, and Wilson felt his heart rate begin to speed up. He swallowed as he offered all the smile he could manage to House’s mom.

“I’m sure you know him better than I do,” he lied.

The service passed in a blur. The body in the open coffin seemed to radiate disapproval and distaste even in death and it was hard to concentrate on anything. Wilson tried to keep his eyes away from it as House insisted on muttering to him. Words and more words that he shouldn’t say, but that he always would.

“Over there,” House whispered a little too loudly. “He's my real father.”

“Shh,” Wilson hissed, finding it hard to believe that even House would choose this moment for this conversation. He tried to push away his suspicion that a 12-year-old House was quite possibly right when he decided his own genetic characteristics didn’t match the man his mother said was his father.

“Oh, good pick,” he whispered back, laying on the sarcasm. “He looks like Sean Connery.”

When the time came for the eulogy, Wilson could feel every muscle, nerve, bone and even the very pores of his body tense up. There could be no good outcome. Before this madness, he’d hardly spoken to House in the months since Amber died, had tried to purge him from his mind. Even though House hadn’t done it on purpose, it was his fault. Amber hadn’t died because of what House did, but it was because of who he was and - Wilson knew only too well - because of what House meant to him.

For a few scant moments, he was touched by the eulogy. He looked over and saw the tears of grief and pride in House’s mother’s eyes. He came back to reality when House choked up. There was just no way. Despite his own, already battered, sense of self-preservation, he got up and moved toward the casket where House stood.

“Put that back,” he hissed, as he saw House clip a sample from the dead man’s ear.

“Oh, you aren’t going to make a scene in front of all these grieving people,” House said knowingly.

Wilson turned and walked away. He wished he’d never come on this stupid trip. What the hell had given him the idea that House was worth it, that he was even upset? Time and again he’d been caught like this. Amber had died and that should have been it. It was it. Enough was enough. This was enough.

He stormed into the chapel waiting area, barely even noticing the stranger’s body in a casket in the corner.

House came through the door behind him, and Wilson was suddenly as furious as he’d ever been.

He turned on his erstwhile friend. “How can I still be surprised?” he yelled. “You would take even this, a moment of real human grief, and turn it into a farce?”

“Oh, cut the crap,” House sneered in his usual infuriating manner. “You enjoy what I do. I never had to force you. You like coming along for the ride.”

Wilson stared at him in disbelief. “Yes,” he forced out, “that’s why I’m cheering you on now.”

House leaned on his cane and fixed him with a glare. “This is about you needing to be prepared for the worst,” he accused. “So, you became an oncologist. No surprises there - worst happens all the time. But Amber? She was young and healthy. Her death came out of nowhere…”

“Don’t bring Amber into this,” Wilson cut in, his voice low as he tried to control the anger.

“…and you weren’t ready,” House continued, ignoring Wilson’s warning tone. “The world sucks, and you didn’t have time to prepare yourself.”

Wilson glared at him. “What happened out there is your show,” he said in a determinedly measured tone.

House rolled his eyes. “You’re scared of death!” he exclaimed, “of losing anyone who matters. So, you dump the person who matters most to you.”

“I’m not scared of death!” Wilson insisted. “I’m moving on.”

“Because no one can take away from you what you no longer have,” House persisted.

Wilson barked out a laugh. The sound was nothing like his laugh normally sounded, even to his own ears.

“Your father’s death is about you,” he accused, “Amber’s death is about you. I can’t even imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to be your friend.”

He met House’s eyes, furious and beyond caring what he said any more.

House moved close enough that Wilson could feel his breath on his cheek.

“Admit it,” House shouted in his face. “You’re angry and you’re scared of losing me.”

“I am not angry and I’m not scared!” He could hardly hear his own voice over the roaring in his ears.

“Admit it, Admit it, Admit it!”

“What are you, five?! Stop repeating…”

“ADMITITADMITITADMITITADMITIT”

“Arghhhhh,” Wilson barely even registered what he was doing. The sound of the bottle smashing through the stained glass window brought him back to his senses.

His world calmed down and he stared at the shattered window in abject horror.

House raised one expressive eyebrow at the damage, then turned to him and shrugged.

“Still not boring,” he said.

And, for the first time since Amber had died, Wilson felt the knots tying up his insides loosen just a notch.

  


*****

They sat in a diner on the route back to Princeton. Wilson fixed his eyes on the salt shaker.

“Did you know I was gonna do that?” he asked.

House didn’t say anything and Wilson shook his head at the table. “Because I didn’t know I was gonna do that.”

House didn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “I know you have trouble losing people,” he mumbled.

Wilson looked at him, and felt the knots tighten again. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, he decided.

  


_The End_  



End file.
